


All for a Good Cause

by Linpatootie



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen, Ice Bucket Challenge, Peter's crush is basically canon, me too Molly me too, wet Nightingale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linpatootie/pseuds/Linpatootie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanopolous nominates Nightingale for the ice bucket challenge. Peter's day just improved drastically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All for a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a late-night conversation with my darling dear Flutteringazure <3 (we have particularly geeky late-night conversations)
> 
> and, as usual, with many thanks to the incomparable Bifurism for the beta <3 <3

Sometimes people surprise you. There will be moments in your life where someone does something so left-field it'll leave you stunned for days, weeks, or possibly even longer. I mean, I can assure you that DI Stephanopoulos was the last person on the force I'd expect to partake in the ice bucket challenge, but she did just exactly that.

It got much, much weirder after that, though.

Her wife had nominated her. She, in turn, had been nominated by some students of hers, and had taken to the whole thing with gleeful abandon. Miriam Stephanopoulos, never one to back down from a challenge, had stepped up, and that's how I found myself with three separate messages from some of my old drinking buddies from the Met, telling me I had to watch this YouTube video, right now.

Did I think it odd that they were so keen on me watching Stephanopoulos chucking a bucket of ice water over her head? Yes, yes I did.

It was a fairly straightforward video. She was standing in what I assumed to be their garden, a couple of chickens pecking about peacefully in the background. She was barefoot, wearing an oversized black jumper, and looking really bloody solemn for a woman about to partake in an internet craze. She gave a little introduction, nodded briskly, and dumped a large bucket of ice water over her head.

To her credit, she didn't so much as squeak, even if she did look like she was about ready to murder someone. She composed herself, breathed in deeply, and went on to make it oh so very clear why people wanted me to see that video so badly.

"And now for my nominations," she said, her voice pinched with cold. "I nominate Belinda Cosway, Harriet Marley, and DCI Thomas Nightingale. You have twenty-four hours, people!"

I replayed the video twice, just to make sure that that was really what she said, but yep - DI Miriam Stephanopoulos had genuinely just nominated Thomas 'my suit cost more than your car' Nightingale to dump a bucket of water over his head for charity.

I rang her. She answered immediately, and I could hear from the endless amusement in her voice as she did that she knew exactly what I was calling for.

"Did you really just nominate my boss for the ice bucket challenge?" I asked.

"Yes, yes I did!" she answered cheerfully.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but why on earth would you do that?"

She laughed. "Oh, I don't know. I thought it'd be funny. He's always so prim and proper, isn’t he. Besides, I might get a certain sadistic satisfaction from getting to watch him douse himself in ice water. He'd better not take the easy way out and only donate money, you hear me?" 

Right. Sure.

I had to show Nightingale the video twice before he understood the gist of it. I had to explain ALS, celebrity culture, the concept of internet challenges, and what exactly YouTube was for, before it finally seemed to sink in that he, himself, was now expected to participate. I showed him a couple more videos from random celebrities he'd never even heard of, and watched him grow more uncomfortable with every sodden A-lister coming across the screen.

"You said it's either a bucket of water, or donating a sum of money, correct? I'd much rather donate, in that case. Seems more helpful to the cause, too," he said.

"Most people do both," I said. "To be honest, sir, you'd make yourself look a bit weak if you didn't do it. Everybody does it, you know. It's about raising awareness and banding together. Not to mention, I imagine it wouldn't do so well for the Folly's image either, if its only DCI was nominated by another officer but refused to participate."

He looked at the screen rather miserably, moved the mouse pointer with considerable shaky effort, and played Stephanopoulos' video again. 

"Does it really have to be cold water?" he asked carefully after we'd watched her dunk herself once more.

I grinned, and nodded. “All for a good cause, sir.”

***

He'd made a bit of a fuss over what to wear, insisting that pouring ice water over his clothes would mean ruining them. I didn't bother pointing out to him that it was really just water and surely none of his suits would dissolve at the touch of it, but I did suggest he could do it naked, if he was so concerned. That earned me a look which rather terrified me, considering that it was coming from a man capable of taking out heavily armoured combat vehicles with his bare hands. 

I wound up asking him if he perhaps owned any t-shirts, which earned me a wholly different look and an exasperated "Of course I own t-shirts, Peter." 

Could have fooled me. I’d never seen him wear one, at any case.

We decided that the best place for him to do it would be the Folly’s back garden. I was to film him, and Molly was all too glad to assist with the water-throwing. I don't know if she understood what the ice bucket challenge was really all about, but she looked rather like she'd been waiting her entire life to chuck buckets of water at Nightingale. 

It wasn't very warm outside. We'd been having a crummy summer, and the skies over London were a steely grey. I actually felt a bit worried about that. While Nightingale was in good health now, having recovered well from getting shot in the back by a vengeful spirit, I didn't know how sound an idea it was to have him soak himself to his undies with cold water in this weather. I wondered if this would lead to a spirited lecture from Dr Walid, after all was done.

Nightingale walked into the garden, and I wasn't thinking about Dr Walid at all any longer. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt as much as he was wearing an undershirt, an expensive one from the looks of it, with a nice V-neck. It was white, even, and I wondered if he'd thought that one through properly.

You have to understand that the only time I'd seen that man in anything other than multiple layers of expensive, full-body outfits was when he was in hospital, and honestly, nobody looks fetching in hospital jammies. This was... new. The shirt clung to his torso, highlighting not only how very slim he was but also that he was rather nicely toned for a centennial, and it showed off his slender, but surprisingly strong arms. 

He looked really bloody good, okay. So bloody good I was grateful for the usual layers, because I was prone to distraction often enough as it was. 

He'd been clever enough to bring a nice, big towel, which he draped over Molly's arm before moving a few feet ahead and turning to face us. "All right," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just get this over with." 

I nodded dumbly, and raised my phone. "Okay," I said, "three, two, one... and talk." I pressed record.

"I am DCI Thomas Nightingale of the Folly, and I was nominated to partake in the ice bucket challenge by my colleague, DI Miriam Stephanopoulos," he said gravely. "I have also donated to the ALS association. If you wish to do the same, go to [www.alsa.org/donate](http://www.alsa.org/donate/) to learn more."

He'd practised that URL beforehand, out loud, which had been amazingly endearing. It still sounded foreign coming from him, and I could tell he wasn't sure he'd gotten it right. I nodded briefly to let him know he had. He had refused to tell me just how much money he’d donated, which told me it was probably a sight more than the required 100 quid.

"I will now get a nice bucket full of ice water to the face," he continued with a grimace. "For which I thank Miriam, of course. Molly, if you please?" 

Molly gleefully grinned her sharp little teeth bare, and swung the bucket with gusto. It hit him head-on, across his face and torso, freezing cold water with ice cubes still floating in it. He’d been holding his breath and let it go loudly, eyes closed, mouth open, his body tensing up. A violent shiver shook him. Then he smiled, brightly, and heavens above – he actually *giggled*. Briefly, yes, but there it was, and I’d caught it on camera and everything. 

The giggle wasn’t the only thing caught on camera, though – the white shirt was doing wonders. Now soaked through, it clung to him, nearly translucent, and he honestly looked like he ought to be on a calendar somewhere. Mister July, live on Folly grounds. Something told me I’d be rewatching that video more than I ought to probably ever confess to anyone. 

"Good lord, this is really cold. Thank you, Molly," he said dryly, blinking his eyes open. He shook some of the water from his hair. "All right. Now I get to nominate, don’t I... my dear friend Dr. Abdul Haqq Walid, and, standing behind the camera, constable Peter Grant, consider yourselves challenged. You have twenty-four hours." 

He grinned widely at me. I managed to at least stop recording before I started laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can spare it, please do visit [the ALS Association website](http://www.alsa.org/fight-als/ice-bucket-challenge.html) for more information on how to donate to the ALS Association.


End file.
